You let it die
by luisa.vang
Summary: They had been brothers for years and decades and centuries but then their bonds begun to become weak, their love turned into rivalry, into pure control. How did it turn out like this? How...could it be that he, their former leader was now nothing more than a puppet to them, a tool. Why did their love turned into obsession or what seemes like hate to him? (No OS)
1. Dark times

**You let it die**

 _7\. Juni 1523  
2 am,  
_ _Københavns_ _slot_ _, Danmark_

A heart of gold but it lost its pride

He had always hated the silverish light of the full moon on the darkblue sky at midnight.  
It robbed everything that was mysterious away, it stole the beauty of the stars and it hid the life of every creature with a veil of its dead light.  
He hated the moon, it destroyed the darkness of the night that always lulled him. That hid him away from hungry eyes of the one that wanted to consume him.  
That could hide him away from the hurt and sad eyes of the one he loved.  
This night wasn't quiet.  
It wasn't peaceful.

 _His heart hurt._  
There were words screamed at him, insults, what did they mean, another language he may had been able to understand years ago. Why did they broke his heart like that? Why did they cut him so deep? Why? Why did it have to end like this?

 _His body hurt._

The abuse always left bruises on his delicate body. Dirty blood on his pale skin, dark blue marks and scanned wounds. He wondered if everyone would ever care how he suffered, how broken he was. He wondered when he had broken on the inside and the outside. When he had lost all of his _dignity_. His _pride_. Where was all his _strenght_ gone? Why was he that _broken_ ? Why didn't he stand up against him? Times had changed. He was at the bottom of their hierachy.

 _He was conflicted._

Why, why was it like that? Why was he that weak? How could he get his colour back – his colour, his shine. His eyes that could tell so many norse fairytales…they were of a dull grey instead of a clear amethyst blue. Which of them would heal his wounds? Would they ever scarred up, those deep cuts in his heart?

 _He was torn between them._

How could he ever be able to stay?  
He loved Berwald with all his heart, his soul, even with his broken body. He was loved by him, he knew it, he felt it in every gentle touch, no matter if he was the one that laid all bloody on the ground and had to be fixed by the Norwegian or vice versa. His heart, his wounded and hurt and broken heart, it was healed by his gazes, his few words, his featherlight kisses. How could he deny his wish to flee? His wish for independence? Because of his love he could stand through every abuse.

He had a little brother, the youngest of all of them, six years by appereance. The child was innocent and fragile and soft to touch in heart and body. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he left him behind. Berwald said he should simply take him with him. But there was no 'simple way' in the life of a nation. The Swede didn't know it because he was still proud and wore his head up like a man should. But Lukas had no pride anymore. It was all gone because a certain person had robbed it away along with his dignity and innocence. But he was the second reason why Lukas could never leave this cursed castle – he couldn't let him fall in insanity. Insanity. It wasn't Mathias fault. It was the fault of this god damned might that was in his hands. Lukas was a puppet, Emil was a puppet, Tino was a puppet, yes, even Berwald was a puppet but a puppet that was about to cut the strings. And he would also cut Lukas' strings if he would just let him. But Lukas couldn't. He couldn't.  
And he hated himself for it.

Beautiful veins and bloodshot eyes

Berwald had never realised how thin Lukas really was, even when he laid completely bare in front of him. Maybe it had been the veil of love in front of his seablue eyes that had hidden the illness of the Norwegian. Though he had felt the bones under his skin every time he had grazed his fingers over the flesh of his arms, his chest and hips. What he had seen were the bruises, blue and green and red, so colourful. He had been a painting, a painting of pain and abuse, created in the cruellest way. What a beautiful, destructive work. It had cut his heart, a heart that seemed hard every time he spoke to their self-declared king. He had hated it. He still hated it.  
To share him. Oh no, what a way of thinking! He had sworn to cherish him but the doors to Lukas' heart were closed. He had been turned into a doll…It was a curse but the Swede had sworn to crush it. He'd free him. If only he would accomplish…If only he would let him.  
He hated to see him like this, shivering, trembling though he had covered him in blankets and in his own fur-coat…He hated to see those orbs that were like gems to him – priceless – reddened by the tears he had shed. He hated to see the veins that weren't hidden by his skin – his sensitive, snowy white skin – so hurt, so hurt, so hurt. Why couldn't he make his pain his own?  
Maybe because his own pain was enough – because his body was scarred as well.  
Maybe because his heart was tired of the pain – it slowly turned cold like ice and hard like a stone.  
Maybe because his soul was ripped apart and the only one that would be able to heal him shoved him away again and again.  
Maybe because he was tired of waiting. And he was tired. Tired of talking to him about his plan, again and again, tired of trying to convince him to come with them.  
Who were 'them'?  
Berwald had not chosen Tino. But he knew the boy would surely reach the age in which Mathias would do the same to him. The same he did to Lukas. And since he had been the one to find him as a child in the woods, Tino was like a little brother to him. A person he had to take care of.  
Now, if he had also someone that he saw as a person he had to protect and another person he loved over everything, you'll ask yourself why he didn't understand Lukas' situation.  
Couldn't he see the despair in these dull eyes? Couldn't he understand why Lukas preferred to sleep in the room he shared with his little brother? Couldn't he understand that Emil who was nothing more than a child needed the protection of his brother?  
Oh well. Berwald saw everything, he heard everything and he understood everything.  
But he didn't get that Lukas also protected him and them, on his very own way.  
He couldn't take him as the person he had been in the past.  
The warrior, the strongest of them, a Viking like no one else with so much power.  
By now the power was gone or so it seemed to the tall blonde man.  
But it wasn't gone.  
Lukas seemed so powerless. He seemed so broken with his transparent skin, the bruises on his hips and his arms, everywhere, the bite-marks on his neck, the dried blood. Where was this power?  
In his heart.  
Berwald didn't know it but Lukas gave everything to be their shield.  
The Swede might be their sword against the Dane. He might be the weapon but he was too aggressive. He still thought that it was the best thing to fight, that the attack was the best protection.  
But it wasn't. Lukas knew the only way to keep Mathias away from slaughtering and killing like the maniac he was. No one else did. Lukas was the one that whispered reassuring words to him. Lukas was the one that took all the pain. He was the one that shed all the tears, alone, in a locked chamber where he was kept when the days were especially dark. Lukas was the only one that was loved by Mathias.  
Yes, it was a strange kind of love. He was loved in the most wicked way there was.  
Yes, it was a destructive love and maybe it was one-sited too.  
But Mathias had always loved Lukas. And Lukas had – secretly – adored him from the depths of his heart. He knew him better than everyone else. Better than Berwald, better than Tino and also better than himself. He knew it was an illness.  
And Berwald hated him for this. He hated how Lukas defended Mathias.  
He hated it. He couldn't believe it.  
He misunderstood the caring of him, the self-destruction, and all those selfless actions as love. As love to the one that terrorised them all.


	2. Viking tides

I've seen your face in another light

First their love had been easy.  
It had started when they were younger, nothing more than children.  
Innocent, they had been so innocent, the three of them.  
Lukas remembered how they sat there at the lake, watched the little waves that were created by the wind, how they listened to the rustling of the leafs, how they had searched for symbols in the clouds that flew there on the light blue sky.

And in the night they had watched the stars. They had been three friends and they had been the happiest persons the world had ever seen.  
He remembered that, when it turned colder in autumn, they would sleep close to each other, he, as the smallest of them, in their middle. It was so vivid in his mind:  
Their warm skin, their scent – both of them smelled like pure nature but Mathias was the wind and Berwald was the sea. He remembered everything. He remembered how their brotherly love to each other became rivalry – and when he had realised that it was because of him, it had already been too late.  
Rivalry brought conflicts over them but this was also something no one had seen – hadn't it looked so natural? Hadn't it been natural? He had been used to the subjects of their conflicts: Who was the eldest, who was the strongest. It seemed childish and he'd just slap the both of them like he always did – he had been stronger them the both of them - and hoped it would end one day. But it increased.  
One night he had sat at their bonfire – the day had been exhausting but he hadn't been able to get to sleep. The days when they cuddled together for warmth and slept in each other's arms were long gone. Gone was the childish love that bound them together. Berwald had decided to continue his raid eastwards – they had argued over it for hours because Mathias wanted to sail and attack the English or maybe the Frenchs – he wasn't the wind anymore but a spark that'd turn into a fire, a fire stronger than everything. A fire – out of control.  
They had fight also and he had spent the evening's hours with fixing them up. Such a stupid thing. He still hadn't get why they became mad so often and he had been so angry. But all he had done was to sit there and to stare into the fire. Berwald had fallen asleep hours ago – and he just knew that Mathias was quiet so he assumed him to sleep too. But it wasn't like that. He had been cold, indeed, but he hadn't accept the arms that wrapped themselves around his waist from behind. Warm arms – the bodyheat of their owner radiated even through the blankets. "Hey, Norge.", a voice that couldn't whisper, a very light accent and the nearly teasing tickling of blond and spiky hair on his neck. "Danmark.", he whispered and supressed the urge to push him away, he didn't find this comfortable, did he? Yet he was so warm…"Let go, Dane.", he said, a little louder now. "But why, Nor?", somehow he sounded hurt. "I like to hold you like this. I can't do it when Sve is around.", Mathias added as he nuzzled his neck. Lukas didn't say another thing, he just rolled his amethyst eyes that gleamed lightly in the warm light and allowed him to hold him for some seconds before he simply shook him off. "I said let go, didn't I?", he asked him with a softly sharp tone as he saw the disappointed look on his face. "But…Nor." "No 'Buts'.", he blocked him as he stood up and walked a bit away to his sleeping place. He hadn't known that this had hurt the soul of his eldest friend so much - and that it would become one of the reasons of his later suffering.

 _Why did you have to go and let it die?_

The next day begun with a cold and quiet morning and while the pale sun of the fading autumn had risen, Lukas' eyes had slowly opened. The boy had blinked a couple of times, slowly realising that there was some extra weight around him. He moved his head a bit to the side just to see that the arms that were wrapped around his back and waist belonged to a certain young dane. Lukas rolled his violet eyes as he tried to free himself from the forced hug of the – still sleeping – Mathias without waking him up. Mainly he did so because he did not want to disturb him but a part of him – a part that simply knew how fucking annoying the eldest of them was – just wished for a little more silence. After a few trys he finally managed to escape and stood up to look around. The other two still slept – Mathias had yawned a bit and rolled himself to the other side – he simply looked like a child while sleeping – and Berwald looked, well, kinda dead or like he was just a very old man. The usual quiet boy could not surpress a grin as he turned around to walk into the forest.  
He needed to search for some medical herbs...the fight from yesterday had left marks and wounds on their skins and they needed those herbs in their bandages to quicken the healing process. To this time his thoughts had still been clean and so very free from all the worries. Lukas was still their leader, he was strong, he was proud, he wasn't all too dumb – in contrary he had a whole lot of knowledge and maybe, just maybe, he was a bit arrogant.  
The grin had turned into a small smile as he closed his eyes and breathed in. The air was cold and it would become even colder in the coming days and weeks...This was what they called 'the first breath of winter'. And he knew quite well what that meant. They had to go back to one of their villages with their houses of stone, they had to hunt – hunt a whole lot before the deers left their forests. How else could the three of them stay strong and healthy? A few years ago they had nearly died because their time plan had not worked out. Lukas did not like to remember those winter. It had been more than awful. It had been the first moment he had felt how it was to become _weak_.  
He opened his lavender blue eyes again, tilting his head into his neck. The sun had risen up and lightened the sky that shone in the colors of the rainbows.  
And while he just stood like that, he did not know how long he had been gone from their fireplace right now, he was hit by the picture of oceanblue eyes – eyes that held a green shine. They belonged to the Swede and he just did not find an answer why those eyes flashed in his mind so often in the last weeks. Surely he felt connected – to the both of them and to Berwald in a special way. He could sit there in silence with the tall blonde for hours, barley exchanging words. But if they talked about the norse sagas Berwald nearly talked all the time and his voice was just...he did not know – maybe stunning was the right word? Anyways, he could listen to him for hours. The Norwegian just couldn't think about any reason why this bond should be stronger or why those thoughts of the other one should be something _special._  
But he felt that something was different.  
They were about to hit puberty, the three of them.

It took a while for him to tear his gaze away from this beautiful sky – more than it costed him to find the herbs in between the fallen leafs. A soft wind moved them, forced them to fall from the trees. They were colored in a warm orange, a firing red and a deep brown. Whoever had said that the autumn was grey was dumb, ignorant or a liar. The herbs – still green like jade stones – nearly shone through the undergrowth – and he just had to bend himself down a little bit. A curved dagger laid in his right hand and when he was just about to cut a few of the plants he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. It make him turn around in the speed of a shadow and in a second his dragger rested against the throat of the male that had stood behind him. All of his muscles were tensed and his eyes nearly gleamed, not in fear but in anger as he brought them up to look in a calm face with a questioning gaze. Berwald did not seem all surprised that Lukas was strained like that – he surely had shocked him a bit but it had been the only way to get his attention. Nearly immediately the Norwegian took a deep breath in but still there was a spark of annoyance on his features. "Ber. What are you doing here?", he asked in a calm voice that did not hide that he wasn't happy about the disturbance. "I thought you wanted to be gone when the sun rises.", he added as he slowly let the dragger sunk again and put it back into his pocket. "Mhm'", came the answer of the Swede. "Mat' 's k'nda worr'ed because ya w're gone." Lukas cocked his head to the side and scanned the older one a bit. "I just needed to collect some herbs.", he said and suddenly he felt reliefed that Berwald hadn't seen how close the damned Dane had slept by him – and this feeling confused him even more. But the Norwegian was able to control himself nearly perfectly after all. Lukas turned to the side and looked over his shoulder into the nearly stoic face of his companion. "You should take a few of them with you too. For your wounds.", he said and gave its best to sound like he did not care if he took them or not while he begun to walk back to their bonfire place. "Tak.", he heard behind him. "S'rry for sh'cking ya." The violet-blue eyes of the Norwegian narrowed. "You did not shock me.", he denied. "I d'd.", Berwald repeated but kept quiet as Lukas didn't answer but simply shook his head, causing strands of his light blonde hair to fall into his face. The expression of Berwald's face didn't change but as Lukas threw another look at the older one he believed that there was a small difference around his lips – was he smiling? For a moment he did not know if he should be angry or happy about it. In the past weeks Berwald had nearly never smiled. It was a rare occasion that this happened. And somehow he was feeling glad to see this 'smile' one last time before the three would split up."Why w'n't ya c'me w'th me?", he suddenly heard this deep soft voice behind him. "Hm?", Lukas turned his face to the Swede and saw that the smile had disappeared again. He knew well enough that Berwald would not repeat himself and also he was fully aware of the question. "I just don't want to walk eastwards – I have heard a few things about that guy called Nowgorod. I belong to the sea, even more than you and Mat." Yes, the Norwegian just craved to sail into the north and westwards to explore and conquer the lands he would find there. The north was mysterious and wide...just like Lukas himself was. "Underst'od.", there was no disappoint or hurt on his face or Lukas just did not see it. Maybe he did not want to see it. And maybe the thing with Nowgorod was just another lie...A spark of what could have been regret filled the violet shimmering eyes of the youngest of them as his hand around the herbs formed a wrist and he looked to the sky. "We'll see us again. Ya know that.", he told him with a nearly soft and warm voice. Yes. They would not lose each other. The tree of them belonged together. They were brothers though they weren't from the same blood, they were friends and their love was strong, right? Nothing would change just because he would travel with Mathias and would leave Berwald alone. They would surely be the same when they were going to meet again.  
"It w'n't be the s'me." Had Berwald really whispered those words? Lukas could not remember. It could be the truth...it could be an illusion of his regret. No. It would not be the same. It could not be the same.  
They would change. And their love would change. It already did. It changed. It wasn't the love of brothers. It was not innocent anymore. Not pure like the snow. They weren't kids anymore and in their time apart they would grow. It would change them, those coming times like the times now changed them. All of them. Their hierachy had never been very strict...All of them counted the same. But this would also fade away.  
Not an hour later the three stood at their bonfire place and said goodbye.  
It was a fading memory. Had there been tears in his eyes? In the eyes of the strongest of vikings?


	3. Flower crowns

_Do you ever think of me?_

A soft laugher filled the icy air around them, like the sound of ringing bells, the laugher of a child. A small child, a small kid, not older than four years by his appearance but a nation like the both of them. First Emil had been fearful, he had been hiding from them in the heart of the volcanos, between the hot water springs, behind rocky mountains and with a scared look in his big, sparkling lavender eyes. His fear had been nearly visible to the young vikings but they had searched for him with soft words on their lips. So very soft and warm words in the eldest of their tongues in the hope that the hiding nation would understand them.  
At the first gaze the small icelandic nation simply looked like Lukas in the moment Mathias had found him. He loved to remember that moment – it had been centuries since this day, so many centuries and Lukas had turned out beautiful and strong and that was why Mathias was sure that Emil also had the strenght to become like the Norwegian who looked like an elder brother to the child. The Dane always wore a smile on his lips although those changing times let him suffer more and more often. His heart ached and he did not know why. He searched for the warmth of the younger one but nearly never did he received anything from him.  
But he had hope. He always held hope in his heart, in his strong and joyful heart. The Dane was a warm person, he was kind and friendly and optimistic.  
He was loud and annoying and could be a nag. Or at least that was what Lukas thought.  
Though he too was glad that he had been found by him when they were as little as Emil now was. In Emil's eyes he had seen what he had forgotten through the years. There had been tears, but not the tears of fear nor the tears of anger or sadness but the tears of _loneliness._ Emil had been lonely, a child without anyone, a nation without population. All he had got were his mountains, cliffs and a few animals. Others than that he was all on his own. A lost child.  
Just like Lukas had been. Lukas had been all on his own, lost in the forest, lost in the mountains.  
Their had been an early norwegian population but they tend to hate the child in the woods, a creature that the fairies had risen up, an immortal being. He had literally felt their hate on his skin. And in his eyes had been tears just like in Emil's eyes. They were connected, since the very first look, Lukas had it in his blood. In his heart had a wish been awoken, the wish to become the Icelander's family. To help him to grow up. To be his shild and sword. He would not let him get hurt by anyone.

Mathias had felt the same wish towards Lukas once and the deep caring he held for the younger viking had become more than that, a wonderful feeling that could also hurt his heart so so much. Because now, their bond had changed, they had become older and it wasn't the same. They weren't the same. His heart craved to get the warmth he had once sawn in Lukas' eyes. Their had been a time when they had cuddled for warmth. But since then decades had passed and nothing was the same anymore. He loved him. Yet he did not know a thing about this kind of love. With Lukas it was the same. To him there was only their quiet, strong bond like those between brothers and not the thin and burning bond of lovers. He did not know a thing. And the warmth of his fingers had nearly faded away between all those fights they had been into. All the blood and death he had seen – it touched his heart in his weakest moments. He had lost his believed in warmth until he had seen this child. A child that needed nothing more than love and a caring hand, a sweet voice to hum him a lullaby, an arm that could held him. And he, he would give it to him.

In the moment, in this very moment in which Lukas swore to himself that he would protect and shield, raise and instruct and love him, his eyes had gleamed like nearly never before. Something inside him, a feeling, an ability that had been sleeping, that had been hiding since just such a very long time, had been brought back to life. And suddenly Emil had felt secure, suddenly his fears had faded away, bit by bit and he had looked up to the both of them, in the bright smiling face of Mathias, in the soft and calm expression of Lukas and the tears had subside from his dark eyes. His short and slightly thick arms had reached out for them and Lukas had bend down to take the light weighted child in a warming embrace. There wasn't much time until the boy fell asleep – Mathias had been unusually quiet while watching the both of them. His heart was so so warm – they were his family after all. Berwald was also his family but he wasn't there. The Swede was a part of them and he held a part of the Dane's heart no matter the differences between them. He was his brother and his brother in arms. Without him the fights weren't the same. But with Lukas it was something else. He could not describe it but it made him happy and sad at the same time as he looked at the boy that sat there at the large smooth stone with the small child in his arms, his head tilted in his neck and his gaze melted with the stars above them. Mathias supressed a sigh and smiled instead. It was something he nearly always did. If he could choose wheter to be glad or gloomy because of a situation he always chose to be happy. To smile. He had learned that it could lighten the moods of the other two up, he had learned that it was better to smile than to sigh. He was going to be strong. Always, always he had felt the urge to protect his younger siblings. To held them close. To shield them. He had the same feelings for them as Lukas had for Emil. And maybe, he thought, maybe Lukas felt the same about him and Berwald too. After all the Norwegian was the strongest of them. But like times, nations could also change and whenever Lukas would need to be protected, no matter in which situation, no matter in which way. Mathias would be there. He would not let anyone touch him. Not at all.  
In those days he still mistaked his love as admiration. The warmth could be because he adored the Norwegian, right? That was also the reason why he searched for his attention and his closeness. He craved to be together with him. In another way. A way he did not known. Not at all. But he would get to know it well enough. For now he did just sat beside him – Lukas slept so he could not say a thing and lately he did not even insult him when he woke up next to him or in his arms. His tired blue eyes fell on the little boy that was cuddeled at Lukas' chest and he couldn't help but to smile as a mixture of sadness, hope and compassion – yes, he wanted Emil to be happy. The others should become happy, they deserved it and he would give his best. He always did, on the more or less right way. Maybe he should think more what was the best for him – he had a spark of egoism in himself too but it wasn't big. The fear of being left alone had always been a part of him. In contrast to Lukas and Berwald he did not like the silence, he did not like to be alone, he wanted, no, he needed their companionship. They were his family.  
Right now all of them did not know that their were many, many more of them, many more creatures the humans called 'nations', right now the only uncountable things were the stars on the night sky. Mathias adored the night sky and how it reflected itself in the deep ocean. From their sleeping place he could see their ship lying in the firth, he could see the canvans flap in the cold wind and all the stars. They were such alike to Lukas' eyes. Somehow...He blinked a couple of times and shook his head to erase this image from his mind but he could not. He simply could not. Emil shivered slightly – he just wore a small dresslike shirt and a shepskin around his shoulders. It was the small cough that awoke the Dane from his day dreams at night and with another pityful look in his eyes he shifted closer and put the blanket over himself and the child, reaching to hold the small shivering hand of the Icelandic. Finally a little sigh passed his pale lips. „I'll be there for ya. Both of ya.", he whispered with a warm and quiet voice. „Kærlighed..."

 _You're so considerate_

Lukas had changed since the day he had found Emil. No, they had found Emil, the both of them. And the Norwegian clearly did not mind that Mathias tried to be a role model for the child – though he clearly had not the capabilities in some spaces. But it made him smile to see how the elder one played with the youngster until he was tired and for once Mathias was silent without being half asleep when Lukas' told about the old norse gods and their adventures in Asgard and Midgard. He could not help it. It felt like family to him. But there was this dark thought in the lowest back of his mind because he remembered those words of Berwald as he left. They would not be the same if they were about to meet again. Things would have changed. And things had changed. He had not realised it but he had begun to become _softer_. He could have guessed it – the child was the first thing to break the wall that had slowly formed around his heart through the wars they had fought. And now he was getting _weaker_ without seeing it at all. And with Emil he had one more person to protect. There was not much place to thing about Berwald and those feelings he somehow held for him. Feelings he could not describe and feelings that worried him. But over all those worries laid a vail of happiness and it was far too thick to let him see the worse changes. Far too thick to let him see how hurt Mathias was on the inside. Sure it wasn't a play or a trick, he smiled and laughed also because he felt like he was needed and like he could make Emil happy but most of all it was just a facade. It hurt, it hurt to share this warmth. To know in the depths of his heart that the warmth wasn't meant for Mathias at all. But he did not show it. Why should he? After all he was a viking. And he would become the strongest, he was sure of it. The times would make him stronger, it was something that destiny had decided. And destiny could be cruel. It had been cruel as it had bound his heart on Lukas' forever because how hard he tried he just could not find the special sparkle in the deep orbs of the Norwegian. What was love anyways? The need to touch somebody? The urge to feel _safe_ in the other's arms, to feel needed, to let him know _everything_ about him? He did not know. There was only just one thing Mathias became more and more aware of. The fact that unrequiered love _hurt_. And it hurt more and more every day. Emil was a good distration, with his questioning big eyes and the expression that could change from excited to admiring to scared in one second. His chuckle was a light in the dark as well as the shine of Lukas' eyes whenever he watched Mathias and his little brother. It was simply beautiful, he was not able to help himself, it was just beautiful and he could not stop _staring_ at him until Lukas would regognise it and give him either a sharp look or a slight slap on the head. Why wouldn't the Norwegian see it? Why couldn't he simply be more _warm_ to him? To be honest he was warmer and softer than before. Mathias wondered if Lukas would become _weak_ one day. He could not really imagine this at all but...Maybe he would. Like Skandinavia had? All great nations fell, right? But Lukas wasn't like them. And he did not want to lose him. No, he would not lose him. Not like that and not on any other way. Not now nor ever. This was a _promise_ he had made to himself. Lukas would stay by _his_ side.

The dawn of their time on the island of Iceland came far too soon – the winter was falling once more and it had been years now, nearly a decade that the three of them had lived together on those green grass, between black volcanous and soft white sheeps, by spending their time telling stories on the bonfire, sailing around the whole island, climbing on mountains, braid crowns of the innocent white flowers that grew on the kraters and sleeping in _eachothers_ arms when it got colder. It had been a time of _harmony_ but also a time of deep thoughts and a time to _forget_. Though those years were just a short period for nations, memories had changed and had begun to _fade away_. Berwald had been right. Their time apart meant something for them. In a few moments, Lukas had _missed_ him. Missed him on such a strange way. He had been happy but his heart had ached like he had never imagine it. It was the same pain Mathias felt sometimes when Lukas pushed him away. It was the _pain of love_. An unrequiered love. To love someone who was far away was bad but not as worse as to love a person around you. It was difficult, so difficult to the teenagers. They weren't children anymore, they weren't as _pure_ as the Icelander, no, not anymore. And though his heart had missed Berwald, the Swede had faded from his memories bit by bit. How did his voice sound? How did it come that he did not really remember the shine of his eyes? The thick accent when he spoke? Everything he could think about were Mathias and Emil. They were family. But Berwald was a part of this too. He belonged to them. Right? Sadly he was not really so sure about this anymore. It was this thought that let the pain grow more in his heart and he tried to reassure himself with warmer thoughts. Lately he would come closer to Mathias – the Dane was annoying as ever but somehow he had become even more _caring_ , but on a different way. It didn't anger him anymore when he pulled him into his arms after they were both half asleep. At least it did not anger him as much as it had back then. So troublesome, they were just so troublesome. And Emil did not know a thing. For him the both vikings were brothers, they were a kind of parents that he never had, caring and loving persons. Because he trusted them, because he searched for their love and their appreciation, because he also _needed_ them, he had agreed on the plan to come with them. The child was facinated by the older boys, especially by Lukas and his wonderful stories. Since his very early days he had believed in fairies and trolls and the spirit of the springs, of the trees, the grass, the volcanos, the mountains...but he never had had anyone to share those believes with. The Norwegian had so much to tell and he, also, was just one miracle to the icelandic boy. Mathias on the contrary was a bright and candid person and Emil loved his smile and his voice and his laugher although he could get far too loud. And Emil believed that there was the warmth of lovers between those two, maybe because he was too innocent and too naive, too small to see the tricked, the tortuous ways that the destiny had chosen for them. For him what they had was love, a unordinary way of love but a love that could _never_ be broken by anyone.  
And he would surely be not _all wrong_. No, not at all. Love could change a lot of things, it could erase and manipulate memories, it could push and pull, it could let you fly to the sky and fall into desperation.  
But to Emil it was just like a warm blanket, a blanket he could only find in their arms whenever he snuggled between them, just like on that evening were their boat finally set it's sails and shifted into the darkness of the scandinavian night.


	4. A ocean of flames

_In too deep and lost in time_

The stars on the scandinavian night skies were more than just simply beautiful. They were everything wonderful and everything what was worth fighting for. They were silverlinings to each of them. How hopeful they lightened up the deep dark of the midnight, how warm and cold they were at the same time. A spark of hope in the heart of each of them.  
If only he could see them now.  
Everything around him was dull and there was smoke, smoke everywhere. A fire, there had been a fire and he did not know what to do. To him it seemed like he had only returned yesterday to his land, all alone but with a whole lot of riches and treasures. He had met a lot of different people on his way – he could not really describe if it had been a harmonic or nice time or not – but he felt like all of it, included his own life would come to an end tonight.  
Berwald couldn't breathe. How did it come that there was a fire in his most important harbours when there was nothing that could actually lit a fire – nothing but another person.  
It had been their first _war_ against each other. A war – not one of those little _games_ nor one of their little _fights_. The times of vikings were coming to an end and the times of monarchys and kingdoms would come and to become a real kingdom one must go in a war. At least that was Mathias opinion.  
Berwald had not know about anything at all. He had been on a journey, a long and lonely journey but it had fulfilled his desire for more land and he had learned so much about his own country. Berwald had been in the mountains, he had climbed as high as the eagles flew and he had sawn everything he never had imagened. Through all this times his heart had get used to this kind of loneliness that wasn't a bad type at all. Because he was not alone but he could enjoy the silence of the nature around him. The silence full of wonderful noises, the rustling of the wind in the branches of the firs. The voices of the forest, all those animals he had seen and how the world reflected itself in the seas, the deep and wonderful clear seas between the flat and the high tiers, the shimmering springs and quells, the tiny rivers which sprung from the Skanden. Everything was so _beautiful_. He had been on his own and he had melted into his surroundings, he had nearly _forgotten_ that he had a family, brothers that he loved and that he missed. But he had been far too fascinated to even realise that. What was love anyways? What was family when you were abandoned by them? What were fading bonds worth? Those thoughts crossed his mind in the second he felt the flames all around him. _Why?_  
He watched the wodden houses burn. The people had flet a while ago but the nation just stood there, waiting, waiting for those who had attacked him. _Why?_  
Of course he had heard of the changes. Europe wasn't the same like it had been yesterday. He had heard of the changes in religion and therefor in the state because the state was influenced by the religion. But out there in the Skanden he had not heard of the christening of the danish king or the alliance between him and the king of the Frankish Empire. There had been this veil of pure harmony around him that had prevented him from worrying about war and fights and empires, there had been a soft cloud of something like happiness that had shield his heart from the _pain_.

The pain was unbearable not, the vail had faded, the cloud had fallen apart and his heart _screamed_ in pain and in anger. It was like thousands of glasses had fallen to the ground – glass, a material that wasn't common in his realm, not to this times – and his eyes that had become so _soft_ had hardened from one second to another. And suddenly he felt a sharp stitch in his right side and it wasn't because of the flames that licked on his clothes but because _he_ was finally there. „Sverige."  
He had never been called by this name by any of them before. It was like a knife was slowly drilling into his heart. Sverige. Did that mean that he was finally not an individual to him anymore? No, he would not say a thing right now, he could not. There would not come any word nor any sound from his lips.  
The only thing he could do right now was to stare at Mathias and his eyes had grown so cold. Was he the only one to attack him? _Or?_ No, Lukas would never be like this, not to him, never. The memory of the Norwegian had faded away bit by bit, bit by bit the nature had pulled the Swede away from him and bound him more and more to him at the same time. Lukas was everything _beautiful_. And he would never betray him...  
The shine of Mathias' axe in the ruby-red light of the flames finally brought life back into his heart, body, soul, muscles. Like he had no control at all about his hands anymore, his fingers moved quickly to the grip of his sword and he dragged it from his belt. His eyes became green stones, hard and without any emotions.  
„Danmark."  
What was the reason for this fight? He did not know, all he knew was that their blades crashed together and _damn,_ Mathias had grown _strong._ But he would not give up, not at all, he could never give up.  
Something about Mathias' eyes war strange and he could not tell what it was but honestly he couldn't have care _less_ about it. He would not lose – whatever Mathias had came for he would not _get it_. A sharp pain radiated from his side, he had just been a second too late to get away from the brutal and fast hit of the giant axe. It was just a small moment but yet it influenced everything. He fell from his feet, the pressure, the thrust was too much and he flew one, two metres back – but he would not fall down – he would not give in. His pale hands pressed on his wound – he mustn't think of the pain right now, he wasn't allowed to feel it.  
The image of Lukas shoot into his mind. What had happened to him? But also this question had to stand back for the moment. The first priority, the most important thing was to fight the Dane, to drive him back – as quick as possible. And to extinguish the flames all around them before they could cause a wildfire.  
It turned out to be the hardest fight in his _entire lifetime_ for now. There were those very bitter emotions in Mathias' oceanblue eyes. The flames turned his bright eyes into burning, consumptive fire and now he could finally see what was the Strange in those eyes. It was a deep _hurt_ , the same kind of _pain,_ he also experienced but there was something else – those eyes were the orbs of someone who couldn't keep it in anymore. Not at all. Not anymore.  
After so much hurt one could become angry and violent. But...what hurt Mathias like that? And what hurt him? And why did they hurt each other?  
Berwald just felt anger inside of him, the sadness was hiding on a very dark place. And the air got even thicker as he finally launched a last attack on the older scandinavian nation, dragging his sword from the right shoulder over the whole back of the Dane after he had cringed away from the stroke of the ax. From Mathias came a very sharp painfilled hiss and now they stood there, facing each other in blood and sweat, in between the flames and ashes. The veil of harmony had been broken for the both of them. Fading away in the blink of an eye.  
Would they ever been able to fix their hearts? Would there be love between the three of them ever again? Would he find out where Lukas was while he stood there, no, while their stood their with their broken bonds? Would he be able to forgive? Time would heal him, the time would heal them. But it also would bring them even more wounds, even more desperation and tears. Destiny could be cruel and it mostly was during those changing times.

 _Why did you have to go and let it die?_

„Mat.", a soft voice whispered right nect to his head and he felt a light thug on his bandaged shoulder. He had been in a deep, dreamless slumber, his wounds had wasted him, it had worn him out, this cruel fight. Mathias had lost his sense for time during all the clashes, during all the cuts he received from his enemy's blade.  
Enemy? Why did he called him enemy? Why was he about to forget his name? Why was he so angry at him? Because he feared him. Not Berwald as a person but what he could do to him – he could take _them_ away and somehow the Dane had developed some kind of paranoia whenever he thought about it. Mathias sensed it, he could feel and see that the Swede also held some special feelings for the youngest of vikings and he did not like it. But that had not been the only reason why he had fought him, not the main reason why he had launched his weapon at him – no, it had been because of his and his king's wish to finally be unified and regognised as a nation, a kind of kingdom – and Denmark needed to show his strenght. He needed to prove it to himself, that he was strong enough, he had to prove it to Lukas, that he was able to protect him, to protect them. Emil was like a little brother or like a son to him, a frail looking child with unlimited curiosity. He needed his protection more than anything. And Lukas – though he still did not show all the signs of love – was the one who would get everything from Mathias. He would do anything for him.  
The Dane slowly opened his tired eyes, his thin eyelids moving upwards and after he had blinked a couple of times he could finally see Lukas looking down at him with a stern expression on his pale, beautiful face. Mathias tried to lift his hand up to him but a sharp pain prevented it and he winced slightly, his teeth sliced his lower lip. „You are an idiot.", the quiet voice of the Norwegian was free from any mocking but it carried some worries. Violet orbs scanned his body, his arms and his sides and that was when Mathias realised that he just wore his thick trousers and nothing but bandages around his chest. A light rosy colour threatened to spread over his cheeks and he looked to the side, just to see the sleeping Emil laying right next to him. His small chubby hands were wrapped weakly around Mathias' lower arms. The child was just too cute – but it could not distract him at all. „You need to eat.", Lukas hands slipped under his shoulders and lifted him up to rest against a stack of pillows made of sheepskin and plumes. „God, Mathias.", the sound of his voice had become so stern and rebuking that it forced the Dane to look at the young viking again. „You should not have done this. You knew that it would turn out like this, didn't you?" „But...", Mathias tried to defend himself and he simply had to pout a bit, like a child would when his mother begun to rant. „I am more than just a nation now.", he said a bit too loudly so that the boy next to him awoke and blinked in shock. Lukas rolled his eyes and shook his head. „Do you really believe that?", he asked. Mathias wondered if there had been hurt in his voice. Why wasn't it still enough for him to be a viking? Why wasn't it enough to be who he had always been, a wild warrior. „I am a _kingdom_ now.", he told him and somehow he sounded more than just a bit _proud._ „A kingdom.", the eyes of the Norwegian had narrowed and he sighed as he unfoltened his arms so that the icelandic boy could come into his arms while he reached for the bowl of soup next to himself. „So that's what it was all about...", just a small whisper, it flew to him like a dying butterfly. Emil had snuggled into Lukas' arms like the child he was and in his deep eyes stood confusion. The boy eyes Mathias and looked up to Lukas and then back again. „Don't ya want to be you anymore?", Emil asked and a second later, just a small moment after the question had passed his plumb lips, his heart grew fearful. For the first time since they had left the island he had been born on, he was afraid of being alone again. For him a change always meant something bad. He had a fine sense for changes like the most children had but on a very special way. And so he nearly launched himself at Mathias, his little arms sneaked around his throat. The extra weight increased the radiating pain of his healing wounds but Mathias did not dare to touch him or even put him down again. Instead Lukas softly removed his brother from the Dane's chest. Suddenly the both of them could hear the silent sobs of the child that had buried his face in the crotch of Lukas' shoulders. The lavenderblue eyes of the Norwegian became very soft and he patted the slender back of his brother. „Hush, hush.", he hummed warmly. „Hush, little one. Nobody will leave you."  
But it was not that easy to still the tears of the boy, not at all. And Mathias' heart clenched itself together in such a painful way that he just had to hide himself away. He could not smile for the boy right now. He could not help Lukas to make the boy feel better. Did he really felt good because he had managed to occupate the coast of south Sweden? Had it really been the right decision? Was it alright to go a different way right now, a new way? When the only thing this way would bring was new _pain?_ But he had been sure, no, he was sure that he would get stronger as a kingdom. He could still be a viking, right? He could still be himself. And never ever would he leave them. He loved them. More than anything. And he wished he could make it up to Berwald...He wished that all of them could be together again. And that he would be able to protect them. „I won't leave.", he finally managed to whisper but Emil could not hear him anymore. He had fallen asleep again in Lukas' arms with his tearstrained cheeks. Gently Lukas laid him down just to give the Dane a not-so-gentle slap in the face. „Don't make him feel this way.", his whispers had become a hiss, a sharp wind that pieced right to his heart. „I'm sorry.", Mathias said and he meant it. „I'm _sorry_ , Lukas.", he repeated and finally he managed to bring his hand up, not to touch his own, reddened cheek but the one's of the still sad looking Norwegian. His hurting heart got warm again – no, nearly hot, too hot. He was surprised that Lukas did not push him away but just looked at him with an expression on his face that Mathias could not explain nor understand. „I'd _never leave_ any of you, i swear.", regret filled his voice. „I know.", it was no hiss anymore and it was more silent than any whisper, just as quiet as the growing grass. He did not fear that Mathias would leave them alone. No, Lukas did not fear that Mathias wanted to become stronger. Lukas feared the _changes_ as much as Emil did. And he did not want this era to end.

But every time, every era had to end and the changes had to come.  
They would all change from the free nations they had been to kingdoms – because everyone around them had executed those changes before.  
And a change was always an end and a new beginning.  
The era of vikings had begun to end as the first of them had got a king, just one for the whole population, a king that was a christ, that cooperated with the kingdoms of the middleaged Europe to occupy and christinate all of Scandinavia. That king was Harald Blauzahn of Denmark. And he would begin to change it all.

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Whit this, the first part of flashbacks of our wonderful nordics is over – next will be the early middleages. I hope you like it so far – I'd love to hear any critic, no matter of positive or negative :)


	5. The colours of the ocean

_If I can let the memory heal  
I will remember you with me on that field _

It was not easy to forgive for them but it was even harder to forget. No, nations like them could never forget. They were immortal after all. And every of their wounds, though scanned up by the passing time, became scars, eternal marks, never to fade from their fair skin that shone like snow in the light of the wintersun. No, the memories were like runes, like spells carved in stone, they were craved in their minds. The good tended to fade away from they like the veil of happiness, like the illusion of harmony, like the fading shimmer of love in their hearts. But not all of them flowed away like the leafs in the autumn on the surface of the river's flowing water.  
And none of them were unforgiving. No one of them would ever think about erasing one of the others from their hearts. They had been brothers for so long that it seemed like forever and now all of them were again on the same 'level' as they had all turned into kingdoms.  
The time of their freedom, pure freedom was over – the rules of a village did not fit the rules of a city, no, a state. They needed structure, they needed to grow up under the pressure of the changing times. Europe had changed since such a long time and finally it had changed for them too.

But the skies above them were still the same.

Lukas always thought about the past and present when he sat there at the rocky shores of his countryside, his feet hanging were hunderds of meters below the angry ocean hit the crags again and again. The night was long and slow and so was his thoughts. Long, slow, like he needed to enjoy every beautiful memory, like he needed to revive them to smile at the illusions.  
Sometimes he wished he could just turn the time back to when they were young. He missed the real, the true smiles Mathias had granted them and how they had played together. He missed their harmony and yet he did not regognise that he was one of the reasons this harmony had fallen apart. Of course – three was always a bad quantity. It meant that when they splitted up, one was determined to stay behind or to go his way alone. And sadly it had not turn out to become better once he had found Emil. The icelandic boy had grown also, he was not the toddler he had found but had reached the outer appearance of a seven years old. He lived with him in Oslo, an uprising city which Lukas had chosen to be his remaining place. The Norwegian's king, Harald III had begun to build a castle in his reign and by now it was finished and for Lukas it was the perfect place to live. The last hundred years had been troubling, he had argued with Mathias, he had argued even more with Berwald – the only one that had stand to him during all those times – was his little brother. That was why he was even more sorry that he had even screamed at him from time to time. He had thought that he would have been used to his countrymans neverending fight of who was the strongest, who was the _king_ but in the last time it had grown so worse that he felt a neverending pain in his chest that would surely drive him crazy one day. The civilwar lasted for so long by now but all his _hopes_ were bound to one man: Sverre Sigurdson. He wasn't like the other kings he had before, he wasn't like them. Maybe he would finally bring him peace. In this phase he had done so much wrong and he wished he could make it undone. But he could not. He simply could not. The night sky was eternal and so was he. So were them. And nothing that had happened could ever been undone. Yes, villages could be build up once again after being burned down and buildings could be restored but all the humans which lost their lifes during their small and bigger battles. It was something that Lukas could hardly forgive himself. Peace, he just wished for some peace and harmony. But there were nearly no good news in the world. He had heard of the many fights between the Dane and the Swede – he had not seen them in a while – but then again he had also been told that Berwald had once again travelled eastwards – but now with the flag of the holy roman church as his banner. It was what they called a 'crusade'.  
And apparently now Berwald was not alone anymore.

Lukas sighed as the fullmoon slipped out of the shady trees behind him and lightened his surroundings. It was so bright that he could barely see the stars he had been watching just minutes ago. The silverish moonlight had become so ugly during those changing times. Lukas had grown _weak_ during all this fighting. He had grown _frail_ , his body did not change as much as the others during puperty. Often he would stand at a lake in the woods or in front of the mirrors in his chambers and search for changes on his body. He had grown – but only a little – his face was still fine featured and his jawbone as well as his shoulders had not become broad. On the contrary, he had become _thin,_ damn, he could even see some hints of a _waist_. Where had his strenght gone?

Suddenly another wave of pain washed over him, let him shiver under it's harshness and he bent forward, his _slender_ hand digged into the soft textile and he had to grip a rock behind him with his left hand to prevent himself from the deathly fall. It _hurt_ , it hurt so _badly._ Why didn't it stop? He was worn out, he was hungry and lonely, he hadn't the strength to escape nor the strength to _change_ it.  
It would never end or at least that was what he thought in this very moment. Was it true that nations could never die? Because he felt like dying. Maybe he should just jump into the depths of the bluff, maybe he should burst at the edge of the cliffs down there below. The ocean would take his body and bury him on the ground of the ocean and everything would be over. He had never tried to die before but he knew that they would be awoken to a new life. Lukas had seen it with his own eyes as he had knelt by Mathias side. The Dane had died before and today he was as _powerful_ , no, even _more powerful_ than before. But still, it was worth a try, right? Oh yes, it seemed so very simple. Would it hurt? Surely not more than the pain that shooted through his heart, radiated all over his body and exploded in his head. He felt how his fingers immediately grabbed the rock behind him to get a hold there but he wanted to force himself – just a little push, a small step and then...

„Lukas?", he heard a calm, nearly monotone voice with a thick accent behind him and then there was a hand on his shoulder and another around his wrist. The Norwegian's breath got a little faster as he begun to struggle against the grip around his hand but this only led the Swede behind him to pull him into a hug. Damn, he had gotten so _delicate_ or why was Berwald able to lift him up that easily? Lukas eyes were sticked on the gras below as they filled with _tears_. Through all the wars and all the hunger he had never cried but right now he could not hold back. How had Berwald found him here? It was his secret place, wasn't it? Well, not for the Swede. Lukas had showed it to him centuries ago and he had told him that this had always been his favourite place in his whole country. And even if the Swede wasn't alone anymore, even with the finnish boy by his side, he had never forgotten the one he cared the most for. Through all the battles, his _heart_ had stayed the same. Memories could fade away but his love didn't and although it hurt like hell, he did not give up on it. He did not give up on Lukas and he would also not give up on Mathias. No matter if their relationship changed...They were still so close. Their bonds had grown thin, their bodies had transformed but in their chests were still the same hearts.

Carefully Berwald held the Norwegian in his arms and worries filled his stoic greenblue eyes as he felt the ripbones right through the thick textile of his tunic. In contrast to him the other former viking had become broad. Lukas could feel it, the _strenght_ of his arms. It mocked him on a cruel way, it showed him that he had become ruinous through the last months, years, decades, centuries. But his hurting heart grew warmer as he tried to relax in his arms. The silence that laid between them was like a warm blanket to him, soothing, comforting. It saddened him that he did not feel equal to them anymore.  
Where had the time gone? Once upon a time he had been the _strongest_ , once he had been their _leader_. Now he was the one who had not grown.  
He was thin, fail and breakable. _Wispy.  
_ And it hurt to stand on his own feets but he was far too _proud_ to let someone help him. Although he grew weaker and weaker. Although he grew uglier in his eyes ever day, hour, minute second.

To Berwald he was the most beautiful creature on earth. The Swede did not say anything because he knew that it was better to keep quiet right now. He felt how the tension of the muscles of the Norwegian faded away and how he relaxed. And then he heard a sound he had not interrogated in ages – at least not from Lukas.  
A sob. Quiet, soft and just like the whispers of the wind that waved around them. Still the Norwegian's back faced him so that he could not look into his eyes but he would not change this. He would not _force_ him to look at him. Not at all. Not when he knew that there was nearly nothing worse than to be watched in the moments of _weakness –_ he had experienced it by himself. And he would not even dare to _hurt_ him more. „'t's ok'y.", he finally said after minutes that felt like hours and days. Lukas' stand was weak, he could feel it by the way the Norwegian leaned at his chest. Had he gotten smaller? Berwald did not know. It had been a long time since they had last sawn each other. But he had heard rumours about the endless civilwars that haunted the younger one. Of course he had also heard and also felt the despredations of the norwegian peoples – but there had never been such a thing as a great war between them. And even if there had been such a thing, Berwald would never push him or would try to get any kind of _regret_.  
Lukas gave a weak smile into the night, knowing that Berwald couldn't see it but maybe he would able to feel it somehow. After all they were connected. And there had to be a reason why he felt so safe right now. Between all those troubles and saddened thoughts, between all the pain and the worries there had been no place for the feeling of missing someone or even the feeling called love. But now all those emotions surrounded, encircled him – it was soothing, this warmth. Those feelings weren't that confusing anymore. He had grown up. They had. No matter if Lukas still lacked the broad shoulders, the strong limbs, the muscular arms and back the other two achieved a long time ago. No matter if his skin – though scattered on his whole chest and back – was still too soft and too pale. Inside he had grown as well or maybe even more than the older one.

And while he stood there in his arms – he was still independent, he was still on his own, he was still _Kongeriket Noreg –_ he realised that there was no reason to give up. He was not alone. His brothers were by his side. The heartbeat of Berwald was proof enough, it was so vigorous, he could feel it through the layers of their clothing, through his spine. He heard it. And it made his heart beat stronger like he would transfer him hope with the simple touch of his ungloved hands and his chin resting in his light blonde hair. It dissolved the shadows that had clenched his heart, that had held his mind in an iron grip...just like the uprising sun after the long _Mørketid._

His tears had dried slowly, leaving his face wet from the salty streams that had wetted his scarf but as he finally lifted a hand up to wip away what was left of the first teardrops he had cried in decades, he found his hand in the light hold of his old friend.

„D'n't."  
The tone of his voice moved the Norwegian on a unknown way and he blinked a couple of times before he finally turned around to face the one he had missed so much. The one he had always cared for without being able to show it. The one he had hurt so much, nearly more than Mathias. Because he had stand with the Dane for so long. Still Mathias had a huge part of his heart. How he had threated Emil – like a real _father_ – the boy still asked for the eldest of them whenever Lukas came home. But it wasn't the same. Berwald was so much like him, he was like the ocean – deep and somehow mysterious and on windless days or out there on the sea it was calm also. On other days it could get stormy and it was powerful. And Mathias, Mathias was just like a fire.

Lukas' heart was a mystery to all of them, even to himself yet right now he simply knew what he should do, what he wanted to do and what he felt. Right _now_ all that counted was right in front of him. Berwald had grown, he was taller than him, even more than he had been before. 6 inches... And damn, he looked _good_.

In those times the Swede did not need glasses at all and in this very moment the silver light of the moon let his eyes shone in just an inviting way.  
Berwald was again perfectly silent, his left arm still laid around his waist and now there was no place for thoughts and worries. His mind was blank and his heart was warm and overall this was the most beautiful feeling there was.  
Cinnamon, Lukas smelled like cinnamon and calluna flowers and he laid his head again on top of his, burying his face lightly in the soft hair of the shorter boy.  
His hand slowly let go of the frail wrist of him – he really wondered since when he was that _perfectly frail,_ like a piece of porcelain, like a picture-perfect creature that would disappear if one touched him. Like an illusion that could fade like sand trickle through his fingers. Berwald's eyes were closed but they opened in surprise in the second the Norwegians slender arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling them closer together. Lukas did not thought anymore. Thoughts had pushed him too far in the darkness. And because of Berwald he could forget about the never disappearing pain in his chest – the warmth he had brought into his heart was like medicine – healing and hushing.  
„Takk...", he whispered and his resigned, toneless voice turned warm and melodious by this one word. The Norwegian tilted his head to the side and then a little bit into his neck, _forcing_ the taller one to look at him. „Missed ya.", he told him softly and Berwald found himself caught into the deep amethyst orbs of the Norwegian. And he did not even tried to escape him, why should he? He was the most stunning creature of this world. _His world.  
_ And suddenly yet slowly his hands wandered upwards to cup the cheeks of this perfectly featured face in an incredible tender motion.  
Lukas wondered if the Swede could hear his heart also, it beat up to his throat, filling himself with so much warmth.  
Standing on the tip of his toes, he brought his face closer to Berwald's, their nose brushing. His pale cheeks got tinted in the colour of roses in the first snow and they heated up quickly under the older one's touch.  
And eventual one of them – and Lukas did not even know anymore who of them had done it – the last inches between them were decased and their lips touched in what they called a _first kiss_ – tender and innocent and soft and yet so alluring and so colourful. Colourful like an autumn's wood, like the rainbow between clouds, like the soft and dancing faries that flowed within the wind into the eternal night.

Hello and good evening from germany :3

Well, here goes the fifth chapter of my story and the first that themes the medieval ages.

And this one isn't dedicated to You let it die by Foo Fighter but to War by Poets of the Fall ^~^

Did i surprise anyone with this? I know the pairing is DenNor (mainly) but SuNor is just so cute and historical just perfect *-*

I'd love to hear you opinion so leave some Reviews!


	6. The deepest night

Chapter 6

 _The harbingers of war with their nature revealed_

 _And our chances flowing by_

The silence had always been one of his best comrades.  
It was like a blanket, so soft, so reassuring. And it always managed to calm him even in the hardest of times.  
The days had grown shorter once more, like they always did when this time of the year begun. Mørketid, the eternal night, was just about to dawn and catch them in its deepest darkness.  
But this year, Lukas did not mind it, not at all. At last the pain had stopped and everything had. become quiet and calm, just like he was. Quiet and calm. Here in Sweden he and his brother were safe and sound – just another reason to love the older Nordic.  
And so he did not reach out for anything, he did never demand anything, especially nothing that he needed for himself. And if he would fight another day then just to help his little brother by growing up.

Still Emil was just a child, a bigger child, not a toddler, but still little and innocent and oh-so-annoying. But he held the Norwegian's heart in his chubby hands and it was one of the most important things that the little Icelandic boy became big and strong. And right now they were on a quite good path – mostly thanks to Sweden. Of course, Berwald also had not that amount of money but he had a stable government and people that worked hard for the greatness of their country. With the unification the pain had finally come to an end. Not abruptly but bit by bit.  
It had ended this endless seaming civil war, it had stopped the bloody fighting and it had finally put him to rest.

Everything was good and bad, better and worse at the same time – the tension between Berwald and Mathias grew by every day and Lukas just wished for it to stop. He tried his best to understand why the only one that the Dane wished to see, was Emil. Of course he was also happy that at least his little brother that loved Mathias nearly as much as he loved Lukas, had the chance of talking and playing with his ‚father'.  
And he had no divine to be angry at Mathias – because he was not the one that was alone. Berwald's warmth beside him was proof enough. He had helped him in those rough times instead of his oldest friend – but nobody could accusate Mathias. He had his own problems and he had tried to help him more than once. And it was not his fault that the norwegian's law dictated the unification through a swedish king.  
And still Lukas was blind to the pain of everyone.  
Times had changed in the last centuries, they had changed, but he still did not see what he did to them.  
It was like he ignored the sadness in those bright blue eyes, every time he came and took Emil back to their house at the feet of the Skanden. He just saw the anger and even this feeling was not understandable for him.

 _It's like you can't, can't  
kill the monster that feeds on you_

For Mathias this union was a betrayal and not one of those ‚lesser' ones. He had never demanded anything to Lukas, which he loved, still, and which he would continue to love even if he broke his heart again and again. No, the Dane had never demanded nor asked the Norwegian for his help when it came to his conflicts with that Swede. And still Lukas hadn't shown him any mercy. No mercy at all. It was like he had not thought of him once, like all the time they had had together with Emil on Iceland had meant nothing to the Norwegian. Nothing at all!  
Another plate hit the floor and shattered into thousands of pieces.  
Shattered and desperate, that was exactly how he felt. The pain of being alone was the worst and it had always been the thing he was the most afraid of. To be all alone. He wanted them to be together. He wanted them to be one family, under his protection. Mathias only wanted to protect Emil and Lukas, he even wanted to protect Berwald and his new little companion, whatever his name was. And most of all, he wanted Lukas by his side.  
And out of this wish he had always held grew something in his heart that had always been there. He would show them where they belonged to…because the only thing he wanted was to turn the time back to when they were together. In perfect harmony. That was all he ever wanted. But he liked it, to be a kingdom. He had been stable from the first day – no one had started a stupid war like the inhabitants of Norway. And he had wanted to help him!  
Another chair hid the stone wall and crashed into its wooden pieces.  
The hope inside his heart was dying, the joy just a facade of hurt, so much hurt…While Lukas had suffered from the bloody wounds and the dying of his people, Mathias had suffered because he was not able to see him – he had asked and debated with his king, his government. But none oft hem actually wanted to reach the norwegians a hand – because they had also not support them. But he had supported Mathias, hadn't he?  
Slowly the Dane tried to calm down, to leave this eruption of envy and anger and pain behind him. It was not easy, not at all, but he gave his best to remember what Lukas had done for him in the last time – even though they were never unificated like this. Hadn't he bandaged his wounds? Hadn't he knelt by his side and held his hands. Even if there had been some mean words from his young companion, he would have ignored them. Mathias had been happy for what they had. Although it had never been enough.  
He had always been inclined to be possessive. And with every little bit of pain that the Norwegian caused him, with every dagger he put in this heart he held in his hands, this side of his personality grew.  
By now he was again just sad, the anger had crawled back into the deepest part of his soul. But he also fight to keep a little bit of his hope.  
The both of them were not the only ones that could talk to their politicians.

 _Draw the line in the horizon_

 _Cos I only need your name to call the reasons why I fought_

Berwald shifted in his sleep – he was haunted yet he did not know if the danger was real. Normally he was like a stone once he was asleep. He only awoke when something really, really bad was about to happen. He always had been that sensitive for every threat. Even as a small child with no knowledge, he had been able to make the best of every situation. For example when he had for the first time crossed parts with a bear-mother and her two little babies – unlike the most children, even unlike the most young nations, he had known perfectly how to act to provide harm for any of them.  
And that had not changed at all. The Swede knew something bad was about to happen, something that appeared like a huge skeleton with a black cloak in his dreams. The _black death_. He had heard of it some time ago but hadn't believed ( and still did not believe) that it would come here too…  
That was the main reason his dream-self couldn't really put the information in the right order. In his uneasy sleep his hand searched for the arm of the teenager next to him – Lukas was awake, staring at the ceiling, lost in thoughts. But as the hand of his companion grabbed his arm – and not in the soft way he used to – he snapped out of his mixture of worries and daydreams. He sat up next to him and looked with concern in his deep blue eyes at the other. Should he wake him up? For him it looked like one of those nightmares his little brother used to have. Or still had. Lukas' hand clenched into a fist – damn he should be with his lillebror – of course, Tino was a good companion for the little boy but when it came to sleeping-issues he could not sleep without his big brother.  
But right now something else bothered him and he decided to look after Emil when he had freed Berwald of whatever threatened him.  
Lukas' hand – still too delicate for his opinion (he had the feeling he would never grow at all while everyone got taller) – freed his arm from the Swede's grip, the other one shook his shoulder. „Ber.", he said, loudly and stern. „Hei, it's just a dream."  
 _Oh why did he never listen?_ It never was just a dream. He should knew it because he also had those dreams, those visions of the future, their future… 

And indeed, Emil dreamed of the same grim reaper but he saw even more than that. Like his big brother, Emil also possessed some kind of power he wasn't aware of – his visions were clearer and they showed an awful, cruel picture of what was going to happen. The cities were burning under the hand of the skeleton man that let Emil cringle in his sleep. This dream was so clear that the poor little child even could smell the scent of death everywhere. Burning bodies, dying people. The Icelandic boy shivered and buried hiss mall head into his pillow. Under his fair, closed eyelids that hid his big, amethyst eyes, formed tears that fell, accomplied by sobs, from his eyes onto his chubby cheeks. Completely terrified walked the boy in his dreams, invisible like a ghost to the people in his visions. Somehow he knew the city he walked through. The old church with the high roof made out of black wood, runes craved in every single piece of wood – the old religion connected with the new – and now it was burning to the ground. Emil realised that he stood in the middle of Oslo right now and his eyes widened in horror.  
"Lukas!", he screamed but not a single sound escaped his sleeping mouth. And yet his body was trembling so much right now that the Finnish child next to him started to awake. Suomi was not much older in outer appearance – not more than two years – he was still small yet he grew quite quickly under Sweden's wings. But in character they were even right now the opposite of each other. And Suomi cared deeply for the younger child – and not only because he was the only other child in the castle. Berwald was so stern that he acted like an adult and Lukas was just far away.  
Too far away for Emil that was still caught in this horrifying nightmare – he did not know what it mean after all but one thought was more clear than anything in his head – a thought, a worry that threatened to shatter his innocent heart. _Lukas was in danger. In deathly danger._  
Not only Lukas.  
They were in danger. In serious danger. And nothing could save them.  
Emil's heart clenched painfully as the dream continued and he continued to run and run and never wanted to stop until he had find them. Until he would find him. The fire died now, it gleamed in a deep red. Red as blood, blood, there was so much blood. It stickled to his clothes, it dirtied his hands.  
But still he did not stop his running, he was running away but he could never get out of Oslo. This gleaming, hot, dirty remains of a once so glorious city – and what was even worse than that was that there was no one around anymore. The screams had stopped and now there was only a deathly silence. "Leifr?", he asked with a trembling voice, stepping another step forward before desperation took a hold over him and he broke down on the bloodstained ground. The easiest answer to what he had seen would be Ragnarök. But he had seen something different. Something that was about to happen far too soon.  
He had seen _the fall of the Kingdom of Norway._

"LEIFR!"  
This time his scream echoed through the halls of _Tre Kronor_ and his eyes shot open, his body flinched and trembled as he found himself in the hug of Tino, his heart beating as fast as the strokes of a butterflies' wings, thumped against the frail chest of the worried Fin.  
In the same moment Lukas jumped out of the bed and even Berwald looked with deep concern in his seablue eyes to the door. The Swede did not even asked what the matter was because every time Emil used Lukas' old name, his Viking name, something was very, very wrong.  
But Berwald could not handle this situation right now – he knew that Lukas knew his brother best and only he and his reassuring words in Norrønt could calm Emil down. With a sigh from his lips he also stood up, still wondering what this dream meant. He had told Lukas in short, silent sentences what he had seen. Because Lukas – still – was a lot wiser than him. And well even he had not known how to realise the information out of this nightmare. But there had to be an answer – an answer to the question what was about to threaten them all. The thing that would change their destiny forever.  
And Lukas ran, speeded up to reach the chamber of the children as quick as possible, as, just after a few steps, a sharp pain hit him in the middle of his heart.  
It was a quite familiar pain but he decided to ignore it – about political issues he could worry later.  
His brother, his _precious lillebror,_ was in so much hurt. There had been so much pain and sadness and horror in this silver voice…He had to help him, he had to be there for him, he needed his _forgiveness_ for leaving him alone. Lukas still tried to run but the pain grew worse with every motion he made. With each step he came a bit closer to his brother – Emil needed him, he had screamed for him, hadn't he?  
He did not realize that this cry had been full of loss and desperation instead of a cry for help. Even if he had known this, he still hadn't care for it. Emil was the one that had screamed. Not him. He was alright, wasn't he?  
By now he felt feverish, the fine features of his face cringed into a painful expression and his skin grew paler by every passing moment.  
And Lukas ignored it. As always. He knew that he was weak but surely not too weak to help his lillebror.  
There were only twenty-five metres left, then twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen. He continued his steps, now nearly in slow motion, his head lightly in his neck, his hands clenched around the blouse he was wearing. Blood drained from his lips as he bit them harshly to prevent to make any sound of hurt – Berwald shouldn't think that he was weak and helpless. No, he needed to be strong.  
Though he wasn't. Not anymore. Not at all.

 _The plague had reached his shores. It had reached his capital._

The next thing Berwald could hear was the sound of a body hitting the stony ground – it alarmed him, even more than the scream of the little boy. It had been normal in the first few weeks of their union – therefor this sound was so familiar for him. Lukas had broken down more often than he could remember. The civil war had still going on for the first one or two months. And he had collected the Norwegian's still form from the ground more than ten times. However, in the last decades nothing like that had happened. It caused the teenager to freeze for a second, cold silence grabbing him, letting his heart beat slowly, then far too fast. He walked with quick steps for the door and to the dorm of Suomi and Iceland but the little ones had been quicker than him. And so the first thing he saw on this gruesome night was the swollen red eyes of Emil, his shacking hands clenched to one of his brother's shoulders. Berwald narrowed his eyes in worry and choose to act quickly. "T'no? C'n ya br'ng h'm 'way fr'm here?", he asked the finnish boy with a voice that was far more soft than normally. Tino, also shaking in fear and worry and so many other angsty emotions nodded so very weakly and gripped the hand of little Emil, pulling the sobbing child away from this scenery.  
His next gaze was dedicated to Lukas' form that was not calm or silent at all but shaky and as he knelt down, putting the back of his hand to his forehead he flinched at the heat that radiated from the snow white skin. "Lukas…?", he sounded quite worried and a voice in his head sounded all alarm bells. Could it really be the plague? Was it really here, in the far north? The truth that he had denied for so long had finally hit him. Them. And it was reaching out for all of them.  
And now…the plague had hit him.  
The plague would hit them. But right now he just didn't care. Why should he? Why would he? Lukas was in danger. And he needed to do something.  
"He n''ds help.", he said to no one and everyone before he lifted him up as easily as ever, cradling him close. Damn that. Normally the only thing that moved the Swede in such a way was the growing hate towards Mathias – but the worries he had when it came to his frail partner, his companion and his lover were even worse.  
No one knew anything about the plague – and maybe there was no way to help him out of this misery but Berwald just had to try, no matter the costs. And he needed to keep the kids away – it was too dangerous for them. A small, reassuring voice tried to whisper the worries away – maybe it was something else? Maybe it was just a cold? But no way, Norway never grew ill. Even with all the pain inside of him, the ripping pain of civil war, had he not grown ill. And now he trembled in his arms, his burning hot head on his chest, a fast and fading breath on his skin. Berwald was no medic at all – he had always been more of a fighter than a healer – and even if, there was nothing to know about the plague except for one thing – it was deathly.


End file.
